


Some Wine To Go With Your Burning Library?

by Jetainia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Historical, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 10:05:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19765960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetainia/pseuds/Jetainia
Summary: An angel and a demon watch the Library of Alexandria burn down.





	Some Wine To Go With Your Burning Library?

**Author's Note:**

> No one appears to be certain about what happened with the Library of Alexandria, and some aren't even sure if it existed, so this is a version that has made minimal attempt at being accurate. I vaguely remember reading something that said little to no books were actually lost because they had been moved out of the library prior to the burning. There's also a skirmish happening in Alexandria in this fic because why not.

Two man-shaped beings sat on a cliff and watched as the sky filled with smoke and reflected the orange flickering of the flames below. There was a rumble of noise drifting up to them along with the smoke, shouts and screams as people battled with each other and the fire. One of the watchers took a swig from the wine jug that was constantly surprised at itself for holding more than it should before passing it over to his companion.

“You’d think the Almighty really doesn’t want humans to know things, wouldn’t you? First the forbidden apple, then the tower of Babel, and now this.”

His companion shrugged slightly and sipped the wine. “It’s not as if all the books are being destroyed, there weren’t many left in the library what with that relocation scheme of theirs. And might I remind you that it was not the humans who decided it would be a good idea to eat an apple from the tree of knowledge, but you.”

“It was still them that went through with it though, wasn’t it?” the Serpent of Eden, nowadays known as Crowley, asked. “I just gave Eve the nudge she needed. And might I remind _you_ that you’re the one who gave them fire as soon as they left the garden.”

Aziraphale, once the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, huffed. “Must you always bring that up? It was cold and they needed protection! I certainly didn’t have a use for a flaming sword and it could do more Good with them.”

“And now look at them. Using your gift to destroy my temptation.”

“I doubt they’d put it quite like that, my dear. They’ve got all sorts of ideas about where fire came from and none of them are even close to the truth.”

“Well, we can’t have the humans spreading the rumour that an angel gave away his flaming sword, now can we? Heaven might hear of it and then you’d have to explain it all to them.”

Aziraphale gulped down some more wine at that thought. The Almighty had never really addressed the fact that he no longer possessed his flaming sword but he had no desire to return to that subject with her.

“Yes, well, I suppose that is a good thing.”

Crowley hummed and leaned back on his hands. “Thought you didn’t approve of my wiles,” he said casually and Aziraphale choked on his latest sip of wine.

“Your wiles?” he asked, seeking clarification.

“Who else do you think went around the world and told the humans different stories about the origins of fire? Pass me the wine, would you?”

Aziraphale did so mechanically. “I suppose I can hardly expect to be able to thwart this one, the humans have already adopted it whole-heartedly.”

“Keep telling yourself that, angel.” Crowley grinned at the flustered Aziraphale before lifting the jug in a toast in the direction of the fire. “To the library of Alexandria,” he said taking a swig of wine and once more handing it over to the angel.

Aziraphale mirrored the actions, murmuring the toast as he thought about all the outrageous origins of fire he had heard about. They sat there until the fire was long gone and the smoke barely visible, passing a very stunned wine jug to each other and watching the destruction of what had really been quite a marvellous building. And if, at some point, the angel’s head rested on the demon’s shoulder or the demon looped an arm around the angel’s waist, there was no one there to comment on the comfortable peace between two beings who should by rights try to kill each other on sight—they certainly shouldn’t grin happily and share a jug of wine.


End file.
